Dear Hallmark

I would hope you’d expect nothing less from a born and bred Kansas City girl.

The commercials. The movies. The CHANNEL.

Sweet Shell Seekers, you had me at hello.

I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve even dug all the happily ever afters.

Shoot, I’ll even admit to a slightly odd tween/teen obsession with “Sarah, Plain and Tall.”

Seriously.

This girl was seconds away from adding an “H” to her name, wearing broad rim hats and finding a guy named Jacob (even amidst my sisters’ convincing argument that Christopher Walken looked remarkably like a tired old woman.)

But then college saved me.

Thank you, Jesus.

So with that declaration and my love firmly expressed, it needs to be said our relationship is at a crossroads. And I want. No, wait.

I need just one thing from the good people of Hallmark.

One movie. One commercial. Shoot, I’d even take one ornament.

One thing that doesn’t make me shake my head and go,

“What in the Hallmark is wrong with this family?”

Because I venture to guess every mother with small children is at this very moment asking the same blessed question.

WHAT IN THE HALLMARK?

Where is the movie that pans out to a lovely light display and begins with this child voiceover, “Mom, that elf is TOTALLY picking his nose!” Where is the camera that zooms into a mini-van that’s so trashed and smelly, you can tell even though it’s dark and there is no smellavision? And where is the delightful subsequent quest to find other lit-up nose pickers interrupted only with a brief burping contest begun by the elf driving?

Where is that movie, y’all?

Where is commercial that begins with angelic strains of “Silent Night” coming from a 5-year-old boy’s bedroom? Where is the harried mom slowly approaching the closed door holding onto the hope that this may just be the Hallmark moment she’s been waiting for? And where is moment when the now open door reveals that “night” and all things that rhyme with it have charmingly been changed to “poop?”

Oh, Holy Poop, where is that commercial?

And while we’re at it, where is the ornament that plays strains of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year?” Where are the hand painted siblings engaged in full-on battle complete with mechanical hair-pulling and head locks? Where is the sweet irony as the jolly refrain is only temporarily overcome with, “You are a poopy, stupid head!?!”

Even as I say, “Where is that ornament?” you are asking yourselves,

“What is this family’s obsession with bodily functions?” And I get it. I would like to know myself.

But come on, people.

Let’s have a REAL episode of prairie motherhood with, “Sarah, Plain and Stinky.”

Because we mothers with small children just need you to throw us a little bone. Just for the sheer hope that we are not alone. And that nose-picking elf spottings are completely normal.

So, let’s get this done. I’ll even call Glenn Close for you. Shoot, I’ll even give you the rights to any material in this little letter.